


Curiosity Killed the Dragon

by paperxcrowns



Series: The Fabric of Magic [2]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, Batman: Under the Red Hood (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Bad Parent Sheila Haywood, Bad Parent Willis Todd, Blood and Gore, Blood and Violence, Bruce Wayne is a Good Parent, Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Good Parent Catherine Todd, Good Sibling Dick Grayson, Gore, Hispanic Jason Todd, Human Bruce Wayne, Hurt No Comfort, I hate the Joker, Mutilation, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Romani Dick Grayson, Sad Ending, THIS IS SO SAD OH MY GOD, Torture, dick is a nymph, he's human too, i say i don't like major character death and then write just that lol, it's not that bad i just think it's worth tagging, it's okay though! he comes back :), it's the second half that gets bad, jason is part dragon, joker doesn't DESERVE cool powers fuck him, really bad, she is really bad in this, she was trying her best okay, the first half is fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:15:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,822
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29461851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperxcrowns/pseuds/paperxcrowns
Summary: Jason just wanted to meet his biological mom, he never thought it would lead to this.
Relationships: Jason Todd & Bruce Wayne, Sheila Haywood & Jason Todd
Series: The Fabric of Magic [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2158773
Comments: 4
Kudos: 34





	Curiosity Killed the Dragon

**Author's Note:**

> i love Jason <3 so i must kill him

Jason shouldn’t be here. Shouldn’t even be outside of Gotham, outside of Bruce’s protection. Bruce and Batman’s. People knew better than to traffic dragons and half-dragons through Gotham anymore, both because Batman gave hell to traffickers and because Bruce enforced the safety of dragons.

But Jason would be fine.

He’d learned years ago how to hide from dragon traffickers. He wore an oversized rust colored hoodie to hide his wings with ease, the hood pulled over his head to hide the scales along his jaw and running down his neck. He let his dark hair hang over his eyes to hide his gold-tinted sclera and slitted pupils that would immediately give him away.

He shouldn’t be in Ethiopia, but his mother was here. Sheila Haywood. He’d found a picture of her in her file. He had her blue eyes.

He only felt slightly guilty about stealing Bruce’s credit card, but the man was a billionaire, he wouldn’t miss the money. He’d get mad, sure, but he would live, and Jason needed to rent a car.

He’d already printed out a map and had written down the directions to her refugee camp in a notebook and, after a long internal debate, had his Robin suit and the panic button that would alert Bruce of his location if he needed immediate assistance both stuffed at the bottom of his duffel bag.

He followed the signs directing him to the car rentals, keeping to himself, keenly aware of what he was getting himself in.

He may have his panic button, but he was in Addis Ababa, and even the Batplane wasn’t _that_ fast, and he still couldn’t fly very well. He’d made progress with Dick, but Dick couldn’t fly, didn’t even have wings. It was still better than nothing since usually dragons were taught by their parents how to fly. 

He readied his fake passport and fake ID, hoping the workers at the car rental wouldn’t question how young he looked, and how definitely _not_ eighteen he looked. But that was a problem for eighteen-year-old Charlie Potts, not for barely fifteen years old Jason Todd. All he needed was confidence and he’d be fine. He just had to channel his inner adult. 

He stepped inside the shop, shoving the nerves away, and smiled as confidently as he could.

* * *

Sheila Haywood had left Gotham when Jason had still been a baby and had been working on famine relief efforts in Ethiopia for three years now. That was all the Batcomputer had found on her. Really, that was all the digging Jason had done on her. He was perfectly capable of looking deeper into her past to see if she was involved in any nefarious and illegal activities.

Jason wasn’t stupid, either. Sheila came from Crime Alley and had married Willis Todd. the possibilities of her being a good person free of any sort of dark past weren’t high, but Jason still held out hope.

It was stupid and it was naive, but he wasn’t in Gotham, and as far as he was concerned, she had turned her life around. He was willing to ignore whatever she’d done in the past. He would find her and they would talk, and everything would be fine.

She was his mom, he wanted at least one person in his family to actually be a good person. He wanted the last parent he had to be a good person. 

He squinted in the harsh sunlight, pulling the visor down to keep the sun from blinding him. 

He may be fifteen, but he knew how to drive. 

Well, relatively well. 

One thing he immediately liked about Ethiopia was the heat. Dragons, he’d found out, don’t do well in the cold, and much prefer the heat. He’d rolled down the car windows and had rolled up his sleeves on a whim just to feel the warm air on his skin and the hot sun dance across his scales. It was never this hot in Gotham unless there was a heatwave. It was only spring and it felt like July in Gotham here. 

Jason smiled again as he drove down the small country road. He couldn’t really consider it a country road; he’d left those a good forty-five minutes ago, but it was close enough, just a dirt road clear of grass and with deep tire tracks gouged in the earth from frequent use.

He approximated he was about roughly fifteen minutes away from the camp his mother worked at. 

It sent a thrill of excitement through his body. He was finally going to meet his mom! His smile widened. Today was a good day.

He squinted at the horizon. In the distance, he thought he saw small green and gray dots of tents and trucks and the faint shape of trailers and storage units among the ring of plateaus that flanked the horizon. The refugee camp, he thought excitedly.

He sped up, wanting--  _ needing _ \-- to get there as fast as he could.

He felt a little guilty about the note he’d left Bruce, but he was benched anyways, it’s not like Bruce would miss him on patrols. Though he might miss him outside of patrol. Dick would miss him. He probably could’ve told Dick, but he’d been worried he would tell Bruce. This was something Jason needed to do. He didn’t want Bruce to tell him he couldn’t go to Ethiopia because he was benched.

At the latest, he’d be home by tomorrow night. If he really let himself hope, maybe with Sheila in tow, though he doubted that. She’d left Gotham, and Jason didn’t see many reasons as to why they’d go back there. And she’d left Jason in Gotham, so he clearly wasn’t good enough to make her stay.

He shook those thoughts off. That had been almost fifteen years ago, she was a different person, now. She was better.

He parked his rented car a little outside the camp and took the time to roll up the windows. The warm air had felt nice, but it had also chased away the smell of stale cigarettes that clung to the cracked leather seats of the car. Jason  _ really  _ didn’t like the smell of cigarettes. Definitely not with his history. 

In this heat, by the time Jason got back to the car, it would be an oven. The only thing that made him cringe about that was the idea of the cigarette smell only becoming stronger and mixing with the smell of hot leather. 

Whatever. He wasn’t letting that stop him from seeing his mother.

He stepped out of the car, grabbed his duffel bag from the passenger seat, and slammed the door shut. He locked the car, praying it wouldn’t get vandalized. He already felt guilty enough about stealing Bruce’s credit card and using all that money, he didn’t want to waste  _ more  _ money.

He tucked the keys in his jean pocket and then shoved his shaking hands in the pockets of his hoodie after pulling the hood over his head. From past experiences, desperate people could resort to desperate measures pretty quickly, and Jason knew  _ exactly  _ how much money someone could make on dragon scales and wings. 

He shuddered. There had been too many close encounters. His hands curled into fists as it fully hit him just how bad of an idea this was. He wasn’t in Gotham. He wasn’t under the protection of Batman. If he got grabbed here, plenty of things could happen before Bruce got here.

One of his hands snaked up and gripped the strap tightly.

He would be fine. This would be fine. Nothing was going to happen. He only received odd looks for his clean clothes and skin several shades paler than most of theirs. He wasn’t as pale as Bruce and definitely nowhere as dark as Dick, but enough that their first assumption probably wouldn’t be that he was American.

Still, he kept his head down and avoided looking at anyone. He only caught bits and pieces of conversations, probably in Amharic, but Jason wasn’t familiar enough with the language to be entirely sure. He did catch some Faerie language but didn’t look up to search for magical creatures among the humans. 

It didn’t matter anyway; he’d come here for his mother.

He made his way through the camp, peeking inside tents, looking at the workers in uniform for his mother’s blond hair. The file had said she was five-five. About Jason’s height.

He stopped one of the workers and asked him where Doctor Sheila Haywood was, and the aid pointed him towards a tent near the edge of the camp. Jason felt a small spark of pride in his chest every time he said his mom was a doctor. He had a parent who was a doctor and working at a refugee camp in Ethiopia. His parents weren’t just a petty criminal and a drug addict. 

He felt a pang in his chest. For all her faults, Catherine Todd had still cared deeply about him and had tried her fault. Living in Crime Alley always broke you, and Catherine had managed to hold out as long as she could. But in the end, she hadn’t escaped its poisonous roots. Roots that Jason still hadn’t shaken off. And probably wouldn’t ever shake them off. 

He peeled back the tarp of the tent and peeked inside. 

There she was.  _ Doctor _ Sheila Haywood. His mother.

She looked up from the papers she’d been studying and smiled faintly.

“Hello, how can I help you?” she asked. 

She looked different than in the picture in her file. Her blond hair was cut shorter, curling just past her ears, worry lines etched a little deeper on her tanned face. His mouth suddenly felt dry.

He pulled his hoodie off his head, half sure it was still concealing most of his golden-red scales. It didn’t really matter, she’d definitely been aware of the fact that Willis Todd had been half-dragon. He had been a proud man, and he had been proud of being half-dragon. Clearly not proud enough to teach his own son to fly. Or maybe he’d been too drunk. Neither of these made Jason despise the man any less.

“Uh,” he started, so eloquently. “My-- my name is Jason Todd.”

Her eyes widened and she dropped her pen on the folding table.

“Todd?” she asked in a muted voice. “No--” 

She stood up and Jason smiled slightly.

“I’m your--”

She engulfed him in a hug before he could finish his sentence. Jason’s brain was trying to register the fact that his  _ mom _ was  _ hugging _ him. 

“Jason,” she said, her voice thick with emotion.

“Mom,” he mumbled, wrapping his own arms around her waist, gripping her white camp shirt in his hands, his breath trembling and tears threatening to spill down his cheeks.

Sheila sniffed wetly, one hand threading through his hair gently. Jason swallowed back a gasp at the gentle touch. Her hands were coarse, probably from lifting heavy crates and equipment around the camp for years.

“Mom,” he said, his voice clogged with unshed tears.

He gripped her shirt tighter and she kept carding her fingers lightly through his hair. 

Eventually, she let him go and he reluctantly let her pull away from him. She led him to her makeshift and pulled out a second folding chair for Jason to sit in.

He quickly passed a hand over his eyes to wipe away any stray moisture. “Why did you leave?” he asked, voice still hoarse.

She sighed, her red-rimmed eyes staring at the electric light on the table. 

“It wasn’t-- it wasn’t an easy decision,” she said. “I didn’t want to leave you or your father. I was still struggling through med school, struggling with money and with living arrangements. I was young and I fell for your father and then you came into the world.”

Jason stayed quiet as Sheila explained.

“It was the greatest day of my life,” Sheila said. “I was so happy, and I thought we might even have a good life together, once I finished med school and finally got a real job with a steady income.”

Her hands reached over and Jason wordlessly let her grasp his hands. Her thumbs started rubbing circles on the back of his hands, the look in her eyes faraway and mournful.

“But an operation I was assisting went wrong,” she said, her voice hardened with bitterness. “The girl died and my career as a doctor was efficiently over in the states. So I decided we would move. I found a good job in England and moved there to get settled. Willis would join me with you later. That was the plan.”

She fiddled with the thin gold chain around her neck pensively. 

“He never showed,” Jason concluded. “He married Catherine instead. Were you two--”

She shook her head. “We never got to marry. I wanted to, but we didn’t have enough time or money to plan a wedding.”

They lapsed into silence. Jason warring with himself whether or not to ask the questions he’d been burning to ask since he found his birth mother hadn’t actually been Catherine Todd.

“Why didn’t you go back for me?” he asked softly, studying the white plastic of the table.

“I didn’t have the money for a custody battle,” she said. “And I would not have won, either way. You needed your half-dragon father to raise you more than your human mother. And you already had another human mother around. I thought it best to let you grow up with them and remove myself from the picture.”

Jason wasn’t satisfied with the answers, but he didn’t dare pry any more than he already had. It was clearly bringing up memories of a bad time in Sheila’s life and he didn’t want to do that to her. This was supposed to be a reunion, not an interrogation.

“That couldn’t have been easy,” he said.

The words felt clinical, automatic. Comforting words Jason fell back on instead of saying all he really wanted to say but could not form into coherent sentences. 

She smiled sadly. “I had to manage,” she said. “I helped people, and it was good enough.”

He squeezed her hand and huffed a laugh. Her thumb brushed over one of the scales on his wrists and she paused for half a second.

Then she smiled softly. “When you were a baby your wings were tiny,” she said. “They were growing so slowly. Your scales were such a beautiful red, too. Like your father’s.”

He cringed. “They’re more gold now,” he said. “Pretty different from Dad’s.”  _ Thankfully. _

“And your wings?” she asked earnestly. “Did you learn to fly?”

Jason flinched. “I’m learning,” he admitted. “My-- my adopted brother is teaching me how to fly. He’s a celestial nymph.” He laughed softly. “It’s not the same, but it’s the best I’ve got.”

And he would always be grateful to Dick for that.

“It sounds like a lot’s happened since I left,” Sheila said, eyes wide. “You were adopted?”

Jason smiled, his cheeks heating up. “Yeah,” he said. “They’re--” he smiled faintly. “They’re the best.”

He thought of Bruce offering to help with his homework, offering him his very own library card, gifting him books for birthdays and holidays. He thought of Alfred, who always patiently listened to Jason’s passionate rants over the book he was currently reading, the way he always agreed to let Jason cook with him when he asked. He thought of Dick driving to the Manor every weekend and putting up with almost daily arguments with Bruce just to hang out with Jason and teach him to fly. 

He was grateful for them, and he’d left without even warning any of them. Yes, he had been mad at Bruce, but he could’ve texted Alfred and Dick at the very least.

He would text them as soon as he found the time, he told himself. He’d tell them he was fine and that there was no need to worry.

Sheila glanced at a red clock on the desk near the lamp and her eyes bugged.

“Ah, speaking of which, I still have work I need to finish up,” she said, giving Jason an apologetic look. “But we’ll catch up some more later, okay? I want to hear all about it.”

Before Jason even registered what was happening, Sheila had already ushered him outside her tent with a quick hug before disappearing back inside.

He stood there for a second, stumped, before his mind finally caught up. He fished his phone out of his duffel bag and quickly texted Dick and Alfred, adding an “I love you” and a heart emoji as an afterthought before dropping the phone in his bag and zipping it shut.

It was still pretty early in New Jersey, whatever the time difference was. Jason wasn’t good at keeping track of that stuff, but he knew he was definitely a few hours ahead. It explained the exhaustion. 

Well, that and the fact that he hadn’t slept in nearing twenty-one hours and the Monster he’d bought at the airport and drunk in the car was already starting to flush out of his system.

He walked around the camp, hood pulled back over his head and hands shoved in his hoodie pocket. He wasn’t really sure what to do with himself while he waited for his mom to finish up her work. He could ask if he could help out, but he had the feeling he’d be more of a nuisance, and he risked people finding out. Really, the best he could do was just stay out of the way of the aids.

He ducked under a floating crate, smiling. Some of them really weren’t going to bother not using their powers, and Jason respected that.

There was the sound of a car engine shutting down and he instinctively looked over with mild interest.

He almost had a heart attack when he saw none other than the Joker step out of the car. His blood ran cold. No. No, not here. Not now. Not when he was completely alone without any sort of backup and only-- and only his Robin suit.

He ducked into the first empty tent he could find and quickly slipped into his Robin suit. He carefully pulled his own clothes back on, tucking his wings as quickly and gently as he could before pulling the hoodie over his head and venturing out once again. His hands were shaking slightly. He’d just risked getting seen not just as a dragon but also as Robin and the Joker was here and-- Jason’s shoulders slumped. He was talking with Sheila. 

He watched them carefully from the safety of the other tents. He probably should have thought to take a weapon with him or at least a glamour charm, but those wouldn’t have made it past security at the airport, since he only had a carry-on bag and he didn’t want anyone to root through his bag and see the Robin suit. 

He could breathe fire. He could fight. He had more physical strength and stamina than regular humans. He could take the Joker. 

It wasn’t long before the Joker and the men flanking him to exit the tent followed by a distraught Sheila. They climbed in the car and Jason swore under his breath. His rental car was all across the camp, and he didn’t have the time to weave past people and tents. He scanned his surroundings desperately for any vehicle he could borrow. His eyes landed on a quad bike sitting by one of the trailers and he smiled. Perfect.

* * *

The car stopped at a warehouse an hour away. Jason wasn’t familiar enough with the refugee camp and the way things worked around here, but he probably wouldn’t be too far off to assume this was where they kept most of the medical supplies.

Jason parked the bike just out of sight and quickly climbed off. A red hoodie and black jeans were probably too incongruous for his surroundings, but as long as he stayed low and relatively out of sight, Jason was fairly certain he could go unnoticed. 

He crept closer to the warehouse, cursing the lack of trees in the area. He’d seen plenty of them on the way there, but conveniently, not here.  _ Fuck. _

The warehouse doors were open and the men accompanying the Joker filed out holding crates of what Jason assumed to be medical supplies. He couldn’t see Sheila or the Joker anymore. He crouched next to a truck, keeping a watchful eye on the men going in and out of the warehouse.

He discreetly pulled out his phone, eyeing the panic button for half a second. He couldn’t do this on his own. But if Bruce came, it would cut his time with his mom short. Though Bruce would probably understand. Probably. Jason had doubts. But then again… this was the Joker. Petty arguments didn’t matter when it came to one of the most dangerous men Jason knew. And he was already in way over his head.

With a frustrated huff, Jason set aside his pride and pressed the red button. Nothing happened. There was no beeping, no blinking light, nothing. Granted, this was the first time Jason had ever used the panic button, so he wasn’t really sure if anything was  _ supposed _ to happen. He just hoped that was the case and not that the button was broken. That would not be good at all.

He checked his phone, thinking that a text would be a good backup. 

No data. Figured.

Jason  _ really _ hoped the panic button wasn’t broken. 

He heard a door swing open and he glanced up to see his mom step out, a cigarette in her fingers and a frown on her face. This was Jason’s perfect opportunity! He’d get her to leave with him and they’d go back to the refugee camp and notify the authorities and Bruce!

He glanced around to make sure the coast was relatively clear and snuck past the trucks and up the stairs to the landing.

“Mom!” he hissed.

She whirled around, the lighter snapping shut with a click. “Jason?” she asked incredulously.

He smiled. “I followed you!” he said, then backpedaled. That was clearly obvious. “I saw the Joker, mom. He’s a dangerous man. We have to leave.”

Sheila bit her lip instead of jumping at the chance to leave.

“He’ll ruin my reputation everywhere, Jason,” she said. “I can’t leave.”

“Then let me help you,” Jason pleaded.

She shook her head. “You can’t help me. It’s the  _ Joker, _ Jason.”

She turned around, exhaling acrid smoke. He grabbed her shoulder.

“No, Mom, you don’t get it,” he said, letting her go to yank off his hoodie. 

She froze in her step at the sight of the red shirt and golden insignia he was so proud of. Of how well his costume complimented his scales and his wings. She gaped, her cigarette lying forgotten on the ground. 

“You’re--” she started, then seemed to regain her composure. 

“Yes!” Jason said with a hint of pride in his voice, finally stretching his wings. 

The landing was out of sight of the men below them loading the crates in the trucks, and there was no one around for miles, not even on the asphalt road probably leading back to the capital. It felt unbelievably good to be able to stretch his wings after keeping them folded up against his body for so long. 

A dozen emotions flitted across her face before settling on resignation.

“Fine,” she said with force.

She took the time to grind the heel of her boot on the cigarette before stepping back inside the warehouse with Jason in tow. He slapped on his domino mask and followed after her. 

The warehouse was nothing big or extravagant. The air inside was significantly cooler than the hot afternoon outside, and it wasn’t very long in width or length. The ceiling hung low, with only half the industrial lights lit, casting parts of the warehouse in shadows.

Jason remained on his guard as he followed his mother down a metal staircase to the bottom floor of the warehouse, just beyond where the men were loading the crates. The Joker was still lurking around here somewhere and Jason couldn’t afford to be caught off guard. Not seven thousand miles away from Gotham and Bruce. Not when he couldn’t be saved if things went wrong.

“Mom, what--”

He never got to finish. He followed her past a tall stack of crates only to come face to face with a silver handgun point directly at his face. He froze, his breath catching in his throat.

No. No, no.  _ No. _ This wasn’t real. This wasn’t happening. Bruce wasn’t here to help him. He was completely  _ alone. _

He glanced at Sheila. “What--” 

She had pulled out her own gun and was pointing it at Jason, her face twisted in a scowl. Jason’s blood turned to ice in his veins as he realized just much trouble he was in. This was a nightmare, and he would wake up. He was still at the Manor, he hadn't gone off to Ethiopia on his own.  _ On his own. _ Without telling  _ anyone. _

“I’m sorry,” Sheila said. “But I can’t have you interfering. You should have stayed at the camp.”

Jason couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He stepped back, maybe hoping to duck behind a crate and make a run for it. As if sensing his train of thoughts, a pair of strong arms grabbed his own tightly.

He gasped and squirmed, his wings flapping madly. He tried to tug his arms free, but the man was gripping him too tight, and he barely seemed fazed when one of Jason’s wings made contact. His heart was seized by panic, and he struggled more.

“Mo--” he swallowed the word back. The Joker couldn’t know. And she wasn’t his mom. “Why?” he asked sharply. “I  _ trusted _ you.”

Sheila rolled her eyes. “You’re a smart boy, Robin,” she snapped. “You don’t know  _ anything _ about me.”

He glowered. “Clearly.” 

The Joker laughed and Jason almost snapped at him to shove a clam in it. Almost.

“She doesn’t work for  _ you, _ Boy Blunder,” he said, grinning impossibly wide.

Jason tugged at the grip again, snarling.

“Whatever he’s taken I’ve taken, too,” Sheila said. “It was a quick way to make cash. We’ve all had to resort to doing things we didn’t want to.”

Jason scowled. “No,” he said.

Sheila glared at Jason, and he only met her glare with one of his own. He grimaced, fire burning in his stomach and in his esophagus. He directed the first blast of fire at the Joker, surprising him enough that he barely had time to jump out of the way. He dropped the gun with a grimace of pain, his clothes smoldering.

Jason grinned viciously. He twisted out the man’s grasp, flapping his wings desperately, so close to being free. His eyes caught the door. It was still ajar and he could see blue sky. 

He took off, trying to reach the stairs.

“Brat!” the Joker spat from somewhere behind him.

He grabbed the railing of the stairs before someone grabbed his wrist and his heart plummetted in his chest, dropping like a stone. He attempted to twist out of the grip, but something burning hot was snapped around his wrist.

He gasped in pain, his arm spasming and his sense of urgency replaced by his brain and nerves screaming  _ “pain!” _ It disoriented Jason enough that the huge man who’d been holding him earlier grabbed his other wrist and twisted it painfully behind his back before locking it in another cuff that burned his skin. He gasped soundlessly, his lungs spasming from lack of inhaling. Jason breathed in sharply and choked.

The man let him go and his legs went boneless. All he could register was the pain in his wrists. He still struggled, ignoring the bolts of pain every movement sent up his arms. 

“What should we do with him?” Jason heard Sheila ask through the haze of pain.

He heard the sneer in Joker’s voice when he replied, “something I’ve wanted to do for  _ years.” _

Jason’s wings were pinned by his bound hands. Through the pain, his brain managed to supply why the cuffs were burning him. Sigils. Specifically, sigils that could restrain a dragon and anyone who possessed fire-related abilities. Sigils that restrained powers were  _ illegal. _

The only ones who still used them were traffickers. His blood ran cold. If there was one thing worse than facing off the Joker alone, it was getting sold to traffickers.

He knew what people would do to dragons. Dragon scales were extremely potent in potions, and even rumored to amplify magic. There were many uses one could find for dragon wings, Jason was sure. He felt sick.

The Joker shoved his boot in Jason’s stomach hard enough that a rib might have cracked. Jason wasn’t sure. The fire burning in his chest was mixing with the one coursing up and down his arms. The foot came again, this time clocking Jason in the face. His head snapped back and hit the ground painfully. He’d landed on his back, making the fire 

“Don’t damage him too much, boss,” the man who had locked Jason in these damned cuffs said. “We might still get a hefty price for the scales.”

“His wings are more valuable,” his own mother said.

That was Sheila’s voice. Even through the white-hot agony and the faint ringing in his ears, Jason could still identify the voice of his mother. Like an idiot, he’d trusted her. This was entirely his own fault. Hot tears of shame and hurt pooled behind his domino mask.

_ Sorry, Alf. I won’t make it home for dinner. _

“The party just got started,” the Joker said cheerfully, punctuating his sentence with peals of shrill laughter.

Jason groaned and pried his blurry eyes open. He could see three shapes. His mother’s blond hair standing the furthest away from him.

The Joker approached with-- Jason tried to blink the blurriness out of his vision. A crowbar. He tensed and even that subtle movement sent fresh waves of agony rolling through his frayed nerves.

“Oh, don’t you worry one bit,” Joker said. It would have sounded sincere if he didn’t laugh right after. “This won’t hurt.”

He brought the crowbar down on Jason. It struck his chest and the rib that might have been fractured earlier  _ definitely _ snapped. He couldn’t fully bite back the scream of pain.

“Well, it won’t hurt _ me.” _ The Joker cackled at his own quip.

He brought the crowbar down again, in the same spot. And again. He hit his arm, then his leg, breaking the arm and dislocating the knee. Jason couldn’t hold back the pathetic whimpers and aborted yells.

“Don’t hold back for me, birdboy,” Joker said, rolling Jason on his stomach, pressing down on his broken ribs, and make him gasp in pain. “I want to hear you _ sing.” _

He brought the crowbar down right on his wing and Jason screamed. This time he couldn’t hold it back. 

The Joker cackled. “Yes, sing for me, little Robin.”

He brought the crowbar down again and Jason almost sobbed out Bruce’s name. He almost begged for his father to save him.

The third time the crowbar hit his wings, there was the sound of tearing, and his back  _ erupted _ in agony. He screamed so loud his voice cracked and broke halfway through, and the tears he’d been fighting finally spilled free. 

Dragon wings were sturdy and leathery, despite being stretched membrane thin. But it was different for the wings of younger dragons. Parents had to be careful because the wings of younger children were much more fragile, and a torn wing meant being grounded for the rest of your life. Very little could be done about a torn wing. 

Jason sobbed as the Joker brought the crowbar down again, this time making one of the bones snap.

“We want to hear your pretty little voice,” Joker crooned in Jason’s ear, tugging him up by his hair, pulling at his scalp painfully. “Was that so hard?”

He let go and pressed his nee on Jason’s bound hands, pressing the burning metal even closer to the skin of his wrists and the skin of his wings. Jason screamed again, his voice hoarse, blubbering out pleas for the Joker to just stop. 

The sigils were burning his skin, his wrists raw and bleeding. He could smell his own burning flesh and he had to swallow back nausea. 

Bruce would come. Bruce, Bruce, Bruce.

He would come and he would stop the Joker and bring Jason home.

The Joker brought the crowbar down again on Jason’s wings.

He’d hug Dick and Alfred.

“What hurts more?” Joker asked, swinging the crowbar down on Jason’s back. “A? Or B?” He swung again.

Jason gasped, trying to ignore the pain. Trying to push past it, imagine Bruce there, beating up Joker and his men, knocking Sheila out and saving him.

“Forehand?” He swung down on his wing. “Or backhand?” He swung down on the other wing.

Bruce would bring him to the best healer he could find. They’d help him. Alfred and Dick will be there. They’ll smile and hug him. 

The crowbar was brought down again, and there was more tearing. Jason screamed again. Blood was steadily soaking into his clothes and soaking the cold cement floor. 

The smell of iron and burning flesh was attacking Jason’s nose.

Jason was openly crying when the Joker finished, his throat raw from screaming, oscillating in and out of consciousness. 

He heard arguing, but it was too faint for him to hear over his erratic heartbeat and harsh breathing. Were his ears ringing? There was a faint whine.

He heard footsteps and pried his swollen eyes open. His cheekbone was broken and both eyes bruised from kicks to the face and hits by the crowbar. There wasn’t a part of him that didn’t hurt.

The man rolled him onto his back with a nudge of his boot and Jason sobbed at the waves and waves and waves of fiery agony that assaulted his skin with a thousand white-hot needles.

Jason saw something glint in the fluorescent light but didn’t have time to see what it was before it dug into the skin of his arm. He gasped as it dug under the skin and suddenly Jason knew what it was.

It was a pocket knife. And the man was pulling his scales.

_ “We might still get a hefty price for the scales.” _

“No,” he mumbled. “No, please.” 

The knife dug under the scale and ripped it off. 

Jason had thought that there was a limit to pain. That there had to be a point at which he’d suffered so much pain his body’s pain receptors simply gave up and shut down. Either he hadn’t reached his limit, or human bodies were defective by nature and someone would need to petition to change that.

The man moved on to another scale, sliding the knife under it and pulling it off. He was in pain and in a blind panic. He knew that scales grew back. It wasn’t like he hadn’t torn some off accidentally during his time on the streets or during training or on patrol. The process of growing scales back was more painful, with the skin constantly itchy and irritated until the scale was fully grown back.

And this man was pulling them off one by one. Leaving a long trail of blood and broken skin along his arm. 

“The crates are all loaded,” an accented voice Jason didn’t recognize said. “We read to leave anytime, boss.”

The Joker laughed. “Well I guess it’s time to go

Sheila scowled. “You said I’d get his scales and wings,” she said. “Undamaged.”

This wasn’t what moms did, Jason’s pain-addled mind supplied, drifting from the conversation.

He remembered Catherine complimenting his wings on the few times she was ever sober, her lips twisting when he hurt them, her stroking his wings in awe when she was so high she forgot his father had been half-dragon.

Tears pooled behind his ripped domino mask. He wanted to cry for his mom that he missed so much. For the woman who had cared for him more than his real mother. 

The crowbar came down again on his wing, tearing through skin and muscles. Jason screamed again as a fresh wave of white-hot agony pulsed from the new wound. 

Jason didn’t have the energy to do much more than curl up further in on himself. The heavy cuffs were warded with sigils that burned his skin. There was the acrid smell of blood and burned scales and skin hanging in the air, making him sick and nauseous. 

He never should have left. He should’ve told Bruce. He should’ve told  _ someone. _

And it took getting betrayed by his mother and beaten half to death by the Joker for him to realize that.

He just wanted to go home.

He wanted Bruce. He wanted his  _ dad. _

He wanted his family.

He wanted to hear Dick’s laughter again.

He wanted to cook with Alfred again.

He wanted to be hugged by Bruce again.

The Joker crouched next to Jason, his hand running through his hair before harshly yanking. Jason cried out.

“We have to go, but it was real fun playing with you, Boy Blunder,” he said gleefully. “I do hope we get to meet again. Unfortunately, we can’t have any  _ witnesses, _ you know? Might make things sticky for us.”

There was-- someone was screaming. Jason stirred a little, blinking around until he caught sight of two burly men dragging Sheila away-- away from the entrance? 

The Joker let go of Jason and patted his cheek. “Now be a good boy and make sure you get home in time for dinner, okay? Playdates are fun until they end.”

Jason lifted his head and watched Sheila get handcuffed to the beam.

“We had a  _ deal,” _ she screamed. “We were supposed to split the money!”

The Joker laughed. “Uh-uh-uh, that’s not the rule. I make the rules. The rule of the game is simple. No. witnesses. That means you, Sheila, dear.”

The Joker sauntered to the door, pausing on the threshold.

“Before I forget.” He cast a glance at Jason, still smiling impossibly wide. “Please tell the big man I said hello.”

He let the door shut behind him but Jason could still hear the fading cackles. He heard the sound of a truck engine starting and the squeal of tires before silence reigned in the warehouse. The only sound was Jason’s whistling breathing and Sheila’s wet sniffles. 

His ears were still ringing, but he was sure there was another sound. Beeping.

The hot blood roaring in his ears and sluggishly leaking out of his body turned to ice. A bomb.

He had to…

He had to get out. Get Sheila out. Batman… why wasn’t Batman here, yet?

Everything hurt so much. Everything was too much.

There wasn’t a single part of his body that wasn’t broken. There wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t screaming in agony. 

Sheila had talked about stealing medical supplies to make a little money. She’d talked about cutting his wings. Now she was handcuffed to a support beam muttering unintelligible words to herself.

There was a  _ bomb. _

Jason could hear the beeping, counting down the seconds until the whole place would blow.

He forced himself to his feet as gingerly as possible, though still jostling his many wounds and making him smother down screams of agony that bubbled in his throat. He choked off sobs of despair. 

He wouldn’t get out. He was going to  _ die _ here.

He was going to die with broken wings and a betrayal to match, wasn’t that perfect?

He pushed himself to his feet with the help of his only unbroken arm. The other arm was broken in three places, his shoulder was dislocated, and he was sure one of his knees was dislocated as well. 

He ignored the pool of blood mixed with torn off and broken scales. His scales. That one of Joker’s men had ripped off to sell. 

Jason looked around but he couldn’t see the bomb. He couldn’t see the timer. His vision was too blurry from the beating and from the tears and blood.

He stumbled over to Sheila. She did not deserve to live. She did not. But she was his family. She was a rotten person, but she was still his only family. 

His leg buckled and he collapsed with a scream that broke into a sob.

“I can’t--” He inhaled shakily, a few tears spilling down his cheeks and mixing with the blood, stinging the cuts on his face.

His wrists were on fire. The sigils were burning through his skin, it had burned and chafed long enough that his skin was numb from the pain, the agony pulsing dully from his wrists now feeling cold. Jason knew that by burn standards, that was a very bad sign.

He had to get the cuffs off, but he couldn’t do that in his weakened state. 

He just had to get to Sheila. He could help her. Maybe she could help him. He wasn’t quite clear on the details, but his mind was foggy and his consciousness started to slip away.

The countdown was still going. Jason hoped that the incessant beeping wouldn’t be the last thing he heard.

With an unexpected burst of adrenaline, he surged to his feet again and stumbled to Sheila. 

She looked up sharply. Her eyes were puffy and her cheeks were blotchy. Her hair was a disheveled mess She was still weakly struggling against the handcuffs securing her to the concrete beam.

“What do you want?” she spat.

Jason had to admit that her tone hurt more than he’d expected. Even when Catherine had been high enough that she would forget who Jason was, she’d never raised her voice at him.

He didn’t speak. He  _ couldn’t _ speak. He was fighting back tears of agony and anger and screams of pain, he couldn’t speak. 

He simply collapsed to his knees, gasping as his dislocated knee hit the cement ground.

He unfurled his broken wings, wincing past the pain, ignoring the sound of tearing and the waves of overlapping agony that set his whole back on fire, and leaned forward just as the beeping stopped.

“Bruce,” he murmured softly, just for himself, unsure if he just needed the reassurance or if it was a prayer that he would come.

Not even half a second later, the bomb went off and all Jason knew was fire and agony and pain and then nothing.

* * *

There were brief flashes of lucidity tainted with a blurred vision and an indescribable agony sinking its claws in his body.

Then the pressure on his chest was moving, shifting, and then it was gone, and he could breathe again.

His chest rattled when he inhaled and he coughed smoke, pain jolting his broken ribs.

“Jay,” a voice called, soft hands brushing through his hair.

He tried to open his eyes, to say anything, but everything hurt, and all he had to do was to stop fighting. He just had to let go and the pain would go away. No one would hurt him. Maybe he’d see his mom again. Not Sheila, she wasn’t-- Jason couldn’t remember, but she wasn’t nice. 

Catherine had been nice. She would let him illustrate her books with his crayons sometimes. 

His lips were cracked and his throat painfully dry.

“B--Bruce,” he said softly, exhaling.

There were soft sounds Jason might recognize. Crying, maybe? The hands were still there and they felt so _ nice, _ through all the pain ravaging his body. It felt so nice and Jason never wanted it to stop. He smiled faintly as he let himself fade again with the knowledge that he was finally  _ safe. _

* * *

Bruce was too late.

The warehouse had exploded before he’d even reached it. And the worst part was that Jason’s emergency beacon was still beeping from the same location: _ inside _ the warehouse.

His son had been inside the warehouse when it had exploded.

His little boy-- Bruce couldn’t think about that right now.

He jumped off of his motorcycle and ran to the wreckage of the warehouse.

“Jason?” he called, his voice catching in his throat.  _ “Jason!” _

This wasn’t happening. Jason was fine. Jason was perfectly fine, and they would talk on the way home, and Bruce would never let him out of his sight ever again. 

He’d let him do whatever he wanted as long as he never scared Bruce like that ever again. 

The warehouse had been reduced to a pile of broken cement and melting metal. there were small fires everywhere, black smoke curling from the whole pile of wreckage. 

Bruce had to put on his rebreather if he hoped to sift through the heavy pieces of cement.

He heard a cough and immediately bolted in the direction of the sound, his heart lodged in his throat.

He spotted a woman with blonde hair among the wreckage, half-buried under a pile of rubble, blisters on her arms and face. 

He knelt next to her. “Can you tell me what happened?” he asked gently.

Her face was stained with ash, but her eyes were a clear blue when they met the white lens of his domino mask.

“B-bomb,” she said, her tongue licking her cracked lips in an attempt to moisten them. “T-the Joker--” She broke off in a coughing fit, wincing and gasping as it jostled the heavy rubble pinning her down. “I-I was working with him. J-Jason… my-- my son--”

Her eyes filled with tears. They spilled over her temples, making clear tracks through the ash. “H-he came. Here. To meet me.” she sniffled. “I was-- so awful. Jason wanted to help me. B-but I betrayed him.” more tears spilled free. 

“Was Jason caught in the blast?” Bruce asked, already knowing the answer but not wanting to accept it.

She nodded shakily. “Ye-yes. He--he protected me from the ex--explosion. He--he’s a good kid. ‘M glad y-you took him in.”

Bruce was more worried than surprised that she knew. But with the Joker, that definitely meant he’d have changed into his Robin suit.

She gripped his arms, crying soundlessly until her chest stilled and her blue eyes stared vacantly at the sky. 

Bruce hastily stood up and searched through the wreckage, calling Jason’s name frantically, barely taking notice when a few stray tears spilled down his cheeks.

He finally found Jason, mostly buried under loose rubble, with only one heavy block pressing down on his chest.

He was sure he felt his heart stop.

He quickly brushed off the rubble on his arms and legs and removed the larger block with a burst of adrenaline and strength he didn’t know he possessed.

And-- oh. Joker hadn’t just left him in an exploding warehouse.

“Jaylad,” he said, his voice breaking.

He fell to his knees beside him and gathered him in his arms. His eyes landed on his hands, cuffed together in front of him and his heart squeezed painfully when he saw the sigils etched in the metal. He pulled out his lockpick, letting Jason’s wheezing breath and chest steadily rising and falling lull him in the barest of comforts. He had the Batplane landed not too far away. He could patch Jason up again.

The cuffs clicked open and Bruce’s heart broke at the deep burns and crusted blood circling his wrist.

He ran his fingers soothingly through Jason’s hair.

“Jaylad, please open your eyes,” he murmured. “Come on. I’ll get you help, okay? You’ll be fine. Everything’s going to be fine. Alfred and Dick are waiting for us. Jason, please open your eyes. Jason--” 

“B-Bruce,” Jason murmured, the faintest traces of a smile on his lips, and Bruce let himself hope that maybe he would make it.

“Yes, I’m right here. I--”

He heard Jason exhale and his chest stopped rising. Fear and anguish ripped away at his heart.

“No,” he mumbled, setting Jason down. “No. no, no, no, no. No, please, God, no.”

With trembling fingers slick with Jason’s blood he started doing compressions. He knew the drill by heart from rescuing too many innocent bystanders before. But it had never been one of his own children.

He could feel Jason’s broken ribs shifting beneath his hands as he counted under his breath the compressions. One rib buckled before he made it to thirty. 

He gave two breaths and started the process again. And again, until he collapsed on Jason, crying.

He wrapped his arms around Jason and pulled him close to him, hating how limp his body was. How limp and broken it felt against him.

Bruce wept as he held his son in his arms, unable to believe it. He couldn’t be dead. Not Jason. Not fourteen-year-old Jason who had begged Bruce to give him at least a clue about what book he was buying him for his birthday.

He couldn’t lose Jason.

Not when Bruce had wanted to surprise him on his birthday by showing him the bank account he’d open for Jason’s college funds. 

Not when he loved him so much losing him felt like dying.

This-- this would break Dick. 

Bruce could already feel himself fracture in a thousand little pieces. Too small to ever be put back together again. 

Because his son was  _ dead. _ Dick’s _ brother _ was  _ dead. _

Bruce cursed the Joker, and Sheila, and the universe for letting this be Jason’s fate. He cursed himself for letting Jason believe that he wouldn’t have gone with him to Ethiopia. 

This was his mistake. This was his fault. And this was the consequence. 

He picked Jason up in his arms, remembering all those times he’d found him asleep in the library and had carried him off to bed. 

He held Jason against him on the ride to the Batplane and on the way back to Gotham, unable to look at the medical supplies and the medical cot sitting in a corner of the plane. 

* * *

Alfred found out first. 

Dick was upstairs in the Manor waiting for Bruce and Jason to return, and only Alfred was standing in the Batcave. Bruce hadn’t wanted to break the news of Jason’s death over comm. He’d kept radio silence the entire flight back, ignoring Alfred and Dick’s constant queries about his whereabouts and if he’d found Jason or the Joker yet.

He stepped out of the plane and Alfred looked up expectantly. He frowned when he didn’t see Jason trailing after Bruce, and his face paled when he saw Bruce’s haggard and blotchy face.

“Master Bruce, where--?” Alfred started.

Bruce made his way to Alfred and grabbed his hands, both to steady himself and to comfort Alfred.

“Jason’s--” Bruce choked up and cleared his throat to chase away the fresh wave of tears. “Jason’s dead, Alfred,” he said quietly.

He might as well have struck him with lightning.

“No--”

Bruce bowed his head. “I was too late,” he said. “I saw the explosion, and I-- I wasn’t there in time. I’m so--”

He never got to finish. Alfred pulled him in a fierce hug and for the second time that day, let himself cry again. 

* * *

“Dick,” Bruce said gently, his own brave face flagging at the look of pure anguish on his son’s face.

Dick collapsed to his knees right there, in the middle of the kitchen, his mouth opened to a soundless. He slapped a hand over his mouth as tears spilled freely down his cheeks.

Bruce knelt in front of his eldest son and held him tightly. Dick wrapped his arms around Bruce in return and started crying. It started slowly, with shaking shoulders and silent sobs and only grew in strength.

Bruce said nothing, he just held him as he fell apart with heaving sobs, barely holding himself together.

“We’ll make it through this,” he said softly.

He was lying. Dick knew he was lying. They were going to fall apart without Jason. Nothing would ever be the same, thing would ever be  _ alright _ again. At least not to the same level. Because Jason was gone. 

Dick didn’t say anything. He just sobbed into Bruce’s shoulder, his hands twisted tightly in his shirt. Bruce had broken the news to Alfred earlier. He assumed Alfred was still grieving in private, somewhere in the Manor. It didn’t matter much at this moment. Because Jason was still gone, and Dick was still breaking into pieces in Bruce’s arms.

He wanted to tell him things would get better, but there was no point in empty reassurances he didn't believe himself.

**Author's Note:**

> 🥂 byee Jason it was fun having you around! 🎉
> 
> you can yell at me in the comments or on [tumblr :)](https://blas-ph-emy.tumblr.com/)


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